


colic

by the_tenerife_sea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Sam Winchester, Gen, Kid Winchesters (Supernatural), Pre-Season/Series 01, Psychic Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_tenerife_sea/pseuds/the_tenerife_sea
Summary: Sammy woke up crying a lot.





	colic

**Author's Note:**

> I just started watching Supernatural (I'm very, very late, I know) and I can't get little Dean and Sam out of my head. I wrote this like a week ago after finishing the first season, so my knowledge of the series only extends as far as halfway through season 2.

Sammy woke up crying a lot.

Mom had said it was normal for babies to cry a lot at night, but it had gotten worse over the past week. Dean could tell that Mom and Dad were becoming frustrated.

“Maybe it’s colic,” Dean heard his dad say one night.

“He’s almost six months old, John,” Mom said back. “Colic shows up in newborns.”

Dean had gotten used to his baby brother’s occasional crying during the night, but now he could barely shut his eyes before Sam started screaming again. He didn’t know something so small could be so _loud_.

The blue alarm clock on Dean’s nightstand ticked sluggishly. The big hand went all the way around again, another hour passing. Dean threw his pillow off the bed. It wasn’t like it was blocking out much noise anyway, as he could still hear high pitched sobs through the pillow's inner stuffing even when he squeezed it around his head as tight as he could. 

He sat up pressed his ear against the wall, hearing Sam’s wails grow louder and his parents’ hushed voices forming into words instead of muffled reassurances. They sounded tired. All three of them.

“He’ll tire himself out eventually,” Dad said.

“I’m taking him to the doctors next week if this doesn’t stop.” Mom’s voice was choked up and scared. “What if he's sick? This isn’t normal, John.”

“Well,” his dad huffed. “There’s not much we can do about it tonight.”

Dean heard his mom sigh, along with the soft pattering of footsteps leaving the room. Sammy was still screaming.

The door across the hall clicked shut, meaning his parents had given up and retreated to their bedroom. Dean frowned, pushing his covers off and hopping out of bed, ignoring the chill of the hardwood floor on his bare feet.

He opened his door as quietly as he could, hoping Sammy’s cries would hide any noise he made, and stepped out into the hallway.

Sam's door was cracked, providing no barrier between his crying and the rest of the house. Dean pushed it open gently.

Sam was squirming in the middle of the mattress, little fists clenched and flailing through the air. Dean walked closer. His baby brother’s face was red and wet, eyes bunched up and mouth wide open.

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean stuck his hand through the bars of the crib, using a finger to wipe away some of the tears on his brother’s chubby cheeks. Sam’s skin was hot to the touch, almost burning up. Maybe he _was_ sick, like Mom said. Or maybe it was colic, like Dad said. Whatever that was.

Dean tried shushing him some more, still wiping at his face, but nothing was helping. Dean felt his own face heat up in frustration. He wanted to scream right along with Sam, maybe even _at_ Sam.

“C’mon, I wanna sleep,” he whispered to his brother. “Mom and Dad wanna sleep, too. Stop crying, Sammy. _Please_.”

Sam’s breath hitched suddenly, and he opened his eyes. They were tear-filled and shiny, making them look bluer than normal. He looked at Dean, no longer wailing, and Dean smiled, relieved. The abrupt silence was almost deafening for the second it lasted, but then Sammy opened his mouth again, and the crying continued.

Sam’s eyes remained open now, though, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, the biggest scowl etched onto his tiny face. Dean looked above them, briefly, seeing the dingy white paint on the ceiling’s walls, but nothing else. 

He sat on the floor next to Sammy’s crib, arm still in between the bars. Sam latched his little hand onto one of Dean’s fingers, but his crying didn’t stop.

“It’s okay,” Dean said again. “It’ll be okay, Sammy.”

When the sun rose, John and Mary found Dean sleeping on the floor of Sam’s room, arm still loosely hanging through the crib bars. Sam was already awake, curled up around his older brother’s hand and playing with his limp fingers.

When Sammy saw his parents standing in the doorway, he smiled.


End file.
